


Sin

by thesinaccount



Category: Hitman (Video Games), Hitman: Absolution
Genre: Gay Sex, I'm Sorry, M/M, Sorta Fluffy, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, birdie is a lil shit, i made a new account as not to soil my name, trans birdie is nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 00:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8124001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesinaccount/pseuds/thesinaccount
Summary: Sometimes only getting money and guns for informantion is boring.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *i regret this im sorry*

47 was probably as close to a state of shock he could've ever been. The situation had not been off before, but it was borderline insulting now. 

He was stood in the center of a decrepit motel room, in an effort to avoid the furniture, which was crawling with what seemed to be roaches, and breathing through his mouth trying to limit the stench of alcohol reaching his nose. The floors were grimey and stained brown with something that 47 was positive was blood and the walls were smeared with a similar substance.

On the other side of the room, leaning comfortably on the arm of an armchair was Birdie. His mouth was contorted into a cruel sneer and he watched 47's reaction intently, almost lapping up the man's shock with his eyes.

"So homes, watcha think? Fair deal?" The gangly man spoke, his voice raspy, from what 47 had presumed were cigarettes. He stood straight and took a confident step foward keeping his eyes locked on 47's. 

47 blinked once then pressed his lips together, turning his features hard and glaring at the skinny man before him. Birdie was younger than him but not by much, his features were surprisingly youthful, his hair was black and oiled back with its own grease, his face was thin and sharp, his lips bordered with stubble. The man's eyes were narrowed and intelligent; gold-brown and fixed on 47's face.

"No. I refuse." 47 deadpanned, his nose wrinkling up.

"Alright my guy, get out. I've better things to be doin', more important than hagglin' for shit with you." Birdie looked amused and walked past 47, his shoulder rubbing the hitman's as he made his way to the door and pulled it open.

47 realised he needed to convince the man to give him the information for something else, anything else. He needed the files on his newest target and not even the ICA had managed to find many of them. Of course the only person who could get hold them had to be a slimy, criminal informant with hundreds of pigeons. One that happened to be asking for sex in return for the target's files.

"How much money do you want for the files?" 47 tried again.

"I don't want money." Birdie leant on the door frame and nodded for 47 to leave. "Ya know what I want, but if your not willin' to supply then tell the agency to send someone else who will."

47 shuddered, with both frustration and disgust but remained rooted to the stop he was on.

Birdie spoke again. "If ya' don't wanna fuck, leave please." He made his tone obnoxiously loud, presumably so the people down the hallway could hear.

47 considered his options, he knew the agency would send someone to Birdie if he refused, but it would take too long and the target would've probably left of Chicago by the time it was organised and the files exchanged. He could see there was no other option.

He breathed out slowly, trying to keep both his temper and his dignity.

"What do you want me to do?" He forced the words out, his whole body tense.

Birdie's sneer evolved into a grin, showing all his yellowing teeth. 

"That's the spirit homes-" 47's eyes narrowed further, he despised that nickname. "-stand there one sec." Birdie turned and shut the door, locking it for good measure and turned back the the hitman. "Ya know how to have sex right? Or are ya the oldest virgin ever? Cause I wouldn't be surprised."

"I've never had sex with a man." 47 said smoothly, it wasn't a lie, but he'd never had sex with a woman either.

Birdie raised a brow and slid off his leather jacket, tossing it onto the arm of his chair. The informant was thin but he had hard, lean muscles and his limbs were criss-crossed with scars. There were a tattoos trailing up his arms to his shoulders, they appeared to be feathers.

47 remained standing in centre of the room as he watched Birdie, eyes suspicious, waiting to see what the man would do. Birdie turned and looked at him. He took two, long strides across the room and stood eye-to-eye with 47.

"No tienes ni idea de lo que está haciendo, ¿Vos si?" Birdie switched into Spanish and raised his brows. Maybe testing 47's knowledge.

"¿Que quieres que haga?" 47 shot back.

"Relajarse." Birdie lowered his voice to a rumbling hum and smiled almost sweetly.

In confusion 47 switched into English. He was glaring.

"How?"

"Like this." Birdie took one more step into 47's personal space and rested his hands on the hitman's shoulders, massaging them cautiously, 47 felt himself relax involuntarily. "Yeah, okay, how do we do this then?" Birdie rumbled.

"Do what you want." At that the man chuckled. He moved his hands to the hitman's suit jacket and be began to pull it off. 47 stared foward, unsure on what to do. Once again his confusion amused Birdie and the man laughed softly and pulled off his jacket completely, turning and throwing it over the chair.

47 let Birdie scrutinise him, watching as the man's eyes trailed up his arms. Birdie was smiling; his brows were raised and he was noticeable impressed.

"How ya find time to work out between hits I'll never know." He mumbled. Hesitantly, he stepped once out of 47's space and began to unbutton his already low-cut shirt. 47 watched, the man's body was similar to his arms, thin enough to show ribs, but still lean and powerful, marked with scars. The most notable of these were under his pectorals, they appeared to be surgical. 

The hitman caught on, and began to unbutton his own shirt, letting it drop to the floor.

Birdie looked up and whistled, his face was flushed and he looked even more impressed than before.

"Fucking Christ." He breathed out. "You know how to keep in shape." Then he chuckled.

47 stood for second, letting Birdie kick off his combat boots revealing socked feet similar to the rest of him, long and thin. He wandered foward so his torso was touching 47's.

"We should probably use the excuse for a bedroom cause I feel like I'll get AIDs from standing here."

"Then I doubt the bedroom will be any better." Birdie snorted at that but stepped towards the bedroom regardless. 

"Oh well, I'm pretty sure the chair ain't gonna be comfortable that's all."

47 wrinkled his nose and followed Birdie into the next room. In the middle was a queen-sized bed, covered in slightly grimey sheets. The air still smelt of alcohol, though, it wasn't as noticeable as before. Birdie sauntered over to the bed and sat in the side of it, watching 47.

The hitman followed, sitting down on the bed, listening to it creak under his added weight. He pulled off his own shoes and tossed them carefully to the other side of the room. He heard a muted 'thump' as Birdie flopped down onto the bed, his legs still hanging over the side.

Birdie was arching his back and stretching out his arms and legs until the 'popped'. Then he looked over at 47.

"You're welcome to lay down y'know? Don't wait for me to tell ya what to do." Catching the hint 47 turned himself so his head was touching the headboard and his arms were at his sides. He watched Birdie for a few more seconds, then the man drew his legs onto the bed and shuffled around until he faced 47.

Slowly, he pulled himself on top of the hitman, so he had one hand and one knee either side of 47's body. He smiled, all teeth showing, down at the other. "Never thought I'd see ya like this homes. Not that it's bad-" He hummed, "-no not at all." All of 47's instincts were telling him to push the man off and leave, but he forced them down. 

Birdie leant foward, resting his face against the side of 47's; mouth near the hitman's ear, blowing warm air by it. Now what? 47 lay completely still anticipating something. "You okay down there homes? You'd rather top?" 

47 frowned, not ready to admit he had no clue what to do.

"I'm fine."

"Loosen up a bit then." And at this Birdie's lips found his neck, 47 jumped, caught completely off guard. Birdie chuckled and kissed the spot again. 47's hands twitched, he had to put them on something other than the bed sheets as it felt odd just to do so. Birdie must of felt this as he stopped kissing 47's neck and pulled back to look at him. "Ya ain't having an attack are ya man? Your hands twitched."

"I'm okay." 47 breathed out, ready to admit something. "Where do I put them? My hands?" 

Birdie laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. He took 47's hands in his own and placed them on his sides. "Go nuts homes." Then he kissed the hitman's neck again, his own hands running down 47's chest. The informant seemed to decide what to do and bit down, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to leave a mark. 47 made an odd noise in the back of his throat, one he didn't know he could make.

"Ow dude not so hard." Birdie grunted and 47 realised that he'd tightened his grip on the man's hips. Then Birdie smirked. His lips moved onto 47's collarbone and he began to suck.

47 moved his hands to the man's shoulder blades, feeling the scars there. There were bullet and knife wounds, and the experiences left blemishes all over his body, similar to 47's own. 

He jumped as Birdie's hands cupped his face and he met the man's eyes, watching warily. "I reckon I'm gonna kiss ya now."

And he did.

47 had been kissed before, but not, as Birdie would put it later: 'properly'. He made another noise in surprise, a small squeak into Birdie's mouth and Birdie hummed, his lips vibrating. It was odd, but not unpleasant. Birdie's mouth moved against his and 47 reangled his head awkwardly. He mimed what the man was doing and it seemed to have a similar effect of him. 

Then Birdie drew his tongue across 47's lips and then nipped them gently. On instinct 47 bit back, teeth catching the skin of the man's lips. Birdie whimpered then he licked 47's lips again, opening his mouth fully and their tongues brushed. Birdie pulled back a few moments later, looking more flushed than before.

47 looked up watching Birdie's facial expression. It was hard to read, but he looked flustered. Birdie lay down fully, his chest touching 47's and he rested his chin on the hitman. He could see now that the tattoos were wings, starting at Birdie's shoulder blades and running down to his elbows.

"What do we do now?"

"I dunno homes I don't plan sex."

47 watched for a few seconds, he knew roughly what to do and Birdie seemed too blissed out to do anything right then. So he flipped them over, it was easy, Birdie weighed next to nothing. 

Birdie squealed as his entire frame was pressed beneath 47's. Letting out tiny moan when the hitman re-shifted his hips. 47 paused, frowning down at the informant. 

"What was that?" 

Birdie opened his mouth to retort but shut it when 47 moved again.

"Fuck- stop." He spluttered refusing to move underneath the hitman.

"Why?" 47 was sure the noise meant the man was enjoying the movement, maybe his weight was too much for the skinny man.

Birdie took a few shaky breathes then spoke. Choosing to ignore 47's question.

"Are we gonna do it like this then?"

47 made a quiet noise as the man pulled him back down to kiss him again, this time it was less clumsy.

47 pulled up when he ran out of breath he looked down at Birdie and grunted again, this time as a response.

"I guess so."

"Well, ain't you just a ray of goddamn sunshine?" One of Birdie's hands moved down to the loops of 47's pants. He pulled them down slowly, keeping his eyes locked on 47's. Unsure of what to do the hitman froze up, letting the man slide down his pants until they came down to his knees.

"You might want to get those off, my arms ain't that long. I can't pull 'em down anymore." 

47 moved upwards, sitting on his knees and pulled off his pants. Beneath him Birdie was wiggling out of his own. Copying the informant he tossed his slacks, making sure they were folded, onto the floor. Birdie eyed 47's legs, grinning again.

He pulled himself into a sitting position, so he was face to-face-to with 47, and wrapped his arms about the hitman's middle. "I'm gonna be frank and tell ya, you're really fucking hot." And Birdie kissed him again, pulling him down so he was on his hands and knees above him.

It was odd, despite what he was saying Birdie showed no visible signs of being aroused. 47 himself was not really either but he'd expected Birdie to be.

47 made a quiet whine as Birdie's hand slid lower until it was at the elastic of his boxer shorts. "You good?"

Birdie's voice was low and warm, his eyes were warm too, flickering with amusement. "Hey, come on," Birdie ran his free hand up then back down 47's back, stopping at his boxer shorts again. "Are ya gonna say anything? Tell me what you want to do."

"I wouldn't know, do what you wish." At this Birdie chuckled.

"Ya have any, I dunno, preferences?" 

"No." 47 replied, he could've told the man he had no clue what he was doing but instead he remained blunt and slightly too proud. It was probably a mistake. 

Birdie laughed again and hummed. "Okay homes, be prepared for anything then." 47 narrowed his eyes, confused. He was so momentarily distracted he didn't feel Birdie's free hand raise from his back and only realised as it came down and hit his ass with a loud 'smack'. 47 growled, scowling down at Birdie, who chuckled.

Birdie took up rubbing where he had smacked him. His other hand slipped into 47's boxers and wrapped about his length. He lifted his hand from 47's ass and he pulled the man down and began kissing him again. He other hand pumped 47's cock slowly. And much to the hitman's frustration he could feel the blood flowing into his cock, so it was throbbing slightly and half-hard.

He let Birdie rub him until he was breathing heavily, he looked down at the man, he was breathing hard too. "Y-ya okay?" His voice was slightly shaky, as was his body.

47 did not speak, in slight fear of his own voice shaking. Instead he hummed. He pulled off his boxers then kicked them off the bed, considering them pointless at this point. He moved his hand onto Birdie's chest, interested in the other man's physiology. The other's ribcage jutted out sharply, if 47 had wished to he could've counted the Birdie's ribs. The most noticeable features alongside his frame were his scars.

Birdie watched his movements his eyes wide, watching 47 run his hand down his body, examining each scar, trying to pinpoint each of their sources. There were bullet scars, knife wounds, burn marks, surgical cuts and a collection of blemishes 47 couldn't identify. Alongside these scars there were tattoos, mostly of feathers and birds but there were a few quotes trailing down his sides. 

When 47 reached the man's boxer shorts Birdie went tense, the man had been so eager before but now he seemed hesitant. 

"What's wrong?" He frowned down at the man.

Birdie shifted awkwardly. "I-uh, um. Okay right, boxers."

"What's wrong?" He repeated.

Birdie took a long, shakey breath. 

"Okay, just, um, don't think I-I'm weird. L-like don't freak out." Birdie appeared to be having second thoughts, but then he began to slide off his boxers.

47 watched. Merely curious of what the man was so nervous about. 

It didn't take long to work out what was off.

He didn't have a penis. He had a vagina. He was technically a woman. 

It wasn't something 47 had expected, but it wasn't repulsive, not like Birdie had made it sound.

In response 47 raised his brows. "You're a woman." He stated.

"Not really."

"You were a woman."

"Yeah." Birdie shifted. "I didn't have the money to get rid of this shit."

47 pressed his hand to the younger man's abdomen the ran it down through the fuzzy hair towards his vagina. "At least ya said ya had sex with a woman, or well ya implied it." He raised his eyes as Birdie spoke again.

"I never stated that."

"So ya haven't fucked anyone? Knew it. I fuckin' kne-"

"Be quiet." 47 glared down at the other, who was grinning back up at him. He felt Birdie's hand cup his face and pull him back down.

He felt himself grow harder as the other man palmed his erection, he could feel the man's stubble as they kissed, it felt odd. Not bad though. Right at 47 felt an orgasam building up the man stopped.

He growled, trying to rut into the man's hand, and Birdie chuckled, he seemed to be relaxed again. In mild frustration he rubbed at the man's swollen clit, maybe as an act of revenge, he didn't really know. He noted that it was longer than a woman's, about two or three inches. 47 presumed it was a result of the testosterone. Despite this it had the expected effect on Birdie, who whined and rolled his hips upwards. 47 noted the man's hand had dropped from the hitman's face and was rubbing beneath 47's own fingers. He batted it away with a gruff: "Don't touch" and continued to massage the man's vagina. Birdie had soon stopped whining and was now moaning in pleasure, his hands and feet curling into the bed sheets. 

47's cock was extremely hard now, he presumed it was a natural state to be in at this point. Something strongly instinctive, purely human was telling him what to do next. 

He bought his hand down to the man's entrance, which was noticeably leaking and pressed his index finger to the hole. Birdie made a noise, not quite a moan and tried to rearrange his hips, to allow 47's digit into him. 47 complied; sliding one finger easily into the man, he could feel the wetness tighten about him and he pressed in as deep as possible. Then pulled out and Birdie growled deep in his throat.

"Do you have any lubrication?" 47 raised a brow.

"F-fuck, in my pa-pant pocket." At this 47 slid off the bed and picked up Birdie's khaki pants, he dug through a few pockets before pulling out a bottle. It irritated him, how the man knew he was going to get what he wanted.

However, any thoughts along this line were lost as quickly as they came. As 47 pulled himself on top of Birdie again. He opened the bottle and tipped it, lube soon covered three of his fingers. He put the bottle on the duvet and pressed his forefinger back into Birdie. He felt the man writhe beneath him and on instinct he curled his finger. Birdie moaned louder.

47 pushed a second finger into the man and scissored him, stretching him. Birdie was desperately moaning his name. It was almost a mantra. He curled both fingers, brushing a spot in the other that made him shout. He finally slid in the last finger, feeling the other trying to get used to it.

47 thrust his fingers slowly in and out of the man, keeping it shallow. Birdie seemed to be enjoying whatever 47 was doing until he decided it wasn't enough and tried to force himself down onto 47's hand.

47 knew what he going to do now. He easily pulled his fingers out of the writhing mess that Birdie had become, casting a glance the man's face, watching his reaction. As he did this 47 coated his dick in lube. He lined his cock up with the man's hole, rubbing his tip against the folds, resulting in louder noises from the man under him.

Slowly he pushed into Birdie, keeping his hands in a vice grip on the man's waist. He began to move his hips, sliding into the man. Birdie growled, grabbing 47's waist, trying to force him in quicker but the hitman kept his own pace. He pushed in until he couldn't go any further then pulled back, still slow.

Birdie was snapping something from beneath him, along the lines of: "Hurry the fuck up. We'll be dead before we come at this speed." 47 ignored him, pulling back until he was almost out completely. Then he pushed back in.

He continued this until he felt comfortable enough to pick up the pace, though that may have been a result of Birdie growling beneath him.

47 lifted Birdie's hips up slightly, giving him a better angle to pound into the other. Birdie moaned loudly as 47 thrust in and out, his pace much faster and more erratic. The hitman growled loudly, he didn't want to degrade himself with moans.

"Fuck homes- I'm gonna-" Birdie didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. 47 could feel the man's walls tighten about his cock and the informant shuddered beneath him. Moments later 47 came too, leaning foward and groaning loudly. 

He slowed his thrusts until he was barely moving. 

Finally, he pulled out, watching both his and Birdie's fluids leak out of the man. He glanced up at Birdie's face, the man had closed his eyes and his mouth was opened slightly. 

47 sat back on his knees, watching as Birdie opened one eye, it looked more golden then it had before, softer too. Birdie sat up as well, shifting forwards until he was close to 47 again. Instead of saying anything Birdie leant foward, tucking his head into 47's neck, breathing heavily. The hitman blinked moving his legs so the other could sit between them. He could feel his own exhaustion setting in and despite himself he allowed the man to curl close to his chest. 47 felt vulnerable, Birdie could chose to attack at any moment, though currently he showed no interest in such a thing.

Birdie seemed smaller now, much less a criminal, he looked timid when he was pressed against 47's chest, eyes shut. He was more attractive too, though it was most likely due to the fact that he wasn't sneering or putting on his usual ugly grin. 

Tentatively 47 moved his hand to examine a notable scar, running down from Birdie's shoulder blade to his waist. His fingers drifted down the pale tissue, tracing it curiously.

"Some asshole came at me with a cleaver." He heard the man mumble into his chest. "And I turned right as he swung." 47 raised a brow, looking at the scar more carefully, picturing the situation in his mind. 

"Did you kill him?"

"Just managed to, thought I was gonna die to be honest. Fuckin' terrifyin', someone runnin' at ya with a cleaver."

47 hummed, he decided it most likey would be a little unnerving to have such a thing happen.

He let his hand run up and down the man's back analysing the wounds and tattoos there, occasionally Birdie would explain but other times he'd let 47 work it out on his own.

He could easily see Birdie's ribs from where he sat, the man was particularly underweight. 47 moved his hand to the man's side, brushing over one rib at a time, counting them in his head. Birdie seemed to be mildly irritated at 47's actions as he huffed loudly into the hitman's chest. 

"You're thin."

"I know homes. Been thin my whole life."

"Underweight?" 47 tipped his head, trying to meet the other man's eyes, but Birdie had turned his face the other way.

"Not as much as I am now."

"Eat more."' 

"I ain't hungry man." Birdie opened one eye, half-lidded, and narrowed it. 47 thought for a moment, before unwinding Birdie's arms from about himself, which earn him a whimper from the other. He got up and crossed the room to where his pants were and Birdie let out a small: "Come on homes" from where he sat on the edge of the bed. 

47 ignored him, sticking his hand into one of the pant pockets, pulling out his phone. He grabbed his boxers as he did so, pulling them on quickly. He tossed the phone in Birdie's direction. 

"Order something." He said, walking towards the small bathroom. He wandered inside, pleased when he saw there was a shower, as grimey as it looked. He shut the door behind him, wrinkling his nose when he spotted there was no lock. 

47 kicked off his boxers again, turning on the water, waiting for it to get mildly hot before stepping into the shower. He stood under the spray, letting the water wash off most of the evidence that tonight's events had even happened. He didn't want to touch the bar of soap left on the side, it probably would do more harm then good.

Less then a few minutes later 47 heard footsteps as the informant approached the door. He turned as the door was pushed open slightly and Birdie's head appeared from behind it, he was holding 47's phone close to his face, covering the receiver with his hand.

"Homes, ya want anything?"

"No Birdie."

"Okay, and by the way ya handler called. Want me to call her back?" Birdie grinned, raising his brows.

"Don't you dare." 47 snarled dangerously. Birdie held up both hands, still grinning then stepped away from the door, leaving a small crack open.

47 finished his shower, grabbing one of the towels, the cleanest there, and dried himself quickly. He pulled his boxers back on and examined himself in the mirror. He looked mostly normal, though his face was more flushed and his eyes wider than usual. The hitman cringed as he noticed marks on his neck and collarbone, clearly the work of Birdie. 

Deciding he looked mildly presentable 47 stepped out of the bathroom, rolling back his shoulders. Birdie was sat, still unclothed, on the bed, the thin duvet wrapped about his shoulders and a pizza box in his lap.

For someone who 'wasn't hungry' Birdie was eating at an alarming speed, cramming half a slice of pizza into his mouth at a time. He raised his eyes as 47 entered the room, then tossed the hitman's phone onto the bed. 

"Ya can call-" He stopped to swallow what was in his mouth, "-ya handler if ya need." Then he returned to his pizza. 47 picked up his phone, found Diana's contact and called the number, sitting down on the bed.

The woman picked up almost immediately.

"47," She sounded clearly relieved, "I was beginning to worry, you haven't replied to any of my attempts to contact you in the last couple of hours." 47 winced, had it really been that long? He rolled his eyes as he saw Birdie set aside his pizza in order to shuffle beside the hitman, dragging the duvet with him. The man curled next to 47, leaning near the phone to listen to his and Diana's conversation. 

"I apologize, I was occupied." He said bluntly.

"With acquiring the files? Did it really take that long?" He could almost tell she was frowning. 

"Haggling was difficult." He said, with a sidelong glare at Birdie, who merely grinned. Diana hummed.

"I understand, though I've never met the man, I'm aware he's trouble." 47 nodded, listening as Birdie scoffed and shifted behind him. "Report back to me when you have the files." 

"Okay." 47 replied, waiting for a second before hanging up. "What are you doing?" He snapped when he felt Birdie's arms, still cloaked with the duvet, wrap about his shoulders.

"It's called a hug homes. Plus ya covered in goosebumps so I assumed ya were cold."

"I know what a hug is Birdie, I just don't appreciate it, particularly when you're covered in sweat." 

"Better then being covered in goosebumps." Was the reply, 47 huffed as the man stretched one leg out either side of him, keeping his arms and the duvet curled round his shoulders. It was rather uncomfortable due to the fact Birdie was smaller than his in every way. 47 sat like it for a few minutes before the feeling became slightly unbearable and he writhed out of Birdie's hold. He stood, stretching his arms.

47 turned to Birdie, quickly glancing to one side when he noted that the man was laying spread across the bed, legs open. He ignored the man for a few more seconds, scooping up his pants, then yanking them on.

"How long until you can get me the files?"

"Tomorrow, easily." At that 47 nodded, walking back into the living space, picking up his shirt and pulling it on, leaving buttons undone for the minute. Leaning foward to pick up his jacket and tie which he tucked under one arm. 

He turned as Birdie wandered in after him, now clothed in his boxers. 47 did up the buttons of his shirt before slinging on his suit jacket. Beginning to tie up his tie, he kept his eyes on Birdie who trudged across the room and picked up his own shirt, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cape of sorts.

"Ya want some pizza before ya go?"

"I'll be fine." 

"What are ya gonna eat then?"

"I'll eat when I get back to my own hotel."

"Oh, fair 'nough." Birdie sounded slightly disgruntled. 47 suddenly felt a breeze of cold air and shuddered. 

"Is the window closed?" The hitman turned around, watching Birdie wrap his shirt tighter about his thin shoulders. 

"Yeah it is, this is just a really shitty building."

"I see."

"Mmhm." 

47 exhaled heavily, he had the feeling he'd regret this.

"Would you prefer to come back to my hotel then collect the files tomorrow?" He asked bluntly. Birdie blinked, then:

"Awh homes I didn't know you cared."

"Birdie-"

"But sure, I'd rather sleep on a couch in some fancy ass hotel than get hypothermia here." The man grinned.

47 forced down the desire to roll his eyes. 

"Very well, get dressed and we'll leave."

"Yeah yeah, we leave, go to your hotel," the man walked back into the bedroom, "then eat, then sleep. After that you get woken up by a great blowjob-"

"Birdie I-"

"Gorgeous trust me." 47 narrowed his eyes at the bedroom door, he decided he prefered 'homes' over any other pet names Birdie was going to come up with. "Then I get ya the files, then ya can do whatever, whether that be me-" 47 scoffed, he highly doubted that. "-or your handler." The hitman glared at the man as he walked out of the room fully clothed. Birdie just wiggled his brows back.

He watched the informant pick up his leather jacket and pulled it on. 

"Fine let's go." He opened the door and stepped out of it.

"Sure, watcha gonna do then?"

"Pardon?"

"Me or your handler."

"Most defiantly not you." 

Somehow he ended up in an almost identical situation the morning after.


End file.
